The Right Idea
by Ashu-94
Summary: Bella and Edward were in love, happy and content. But when Bella dies, how does Edward continue to live in a world were she does not? One shot. AH. X


**Okay, this is my first fan fic, so i may royally suck at this.**

**I don't normally write so, I hope it's worth it.**

**Read and Review!**

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The Right Idea

I see lilies...her favourite flower; smell her sweet scent; that is all it took. Just like that, I was drowning in a sea of painful memories.

Sometimes her appearance is so unexpected, so earth-shatteringly sudden, that I can only stand still, neglecting whatever was happening around me, just so I can watch her. Her skin coated with honey-coloured sunlight, her hair falling down in ringlets and the stars laced into her chocolate eyes. The comforting white aura that surrounds her elegant figure, cut into me.

I wonder if it is possible to bleed black, because inside I feel empty. My heart and soul was not just broken, but ripped out from the rest of me, leaving a pointless human shell.

I think that maybe in death, she has become inflated in everybody's minds, blown so out of proportion that the only thing my apparition has in common with the real person is a name. I look at her and see she was a few inches away and a hundred yards further at the same time, spinning in lazy, languid circles with her arms outstretched, a daisy chain hanging around her thin wrist. I would not let myself dwell on what the makeshift bracelet hides.

I think she might have noticed me, as the smile on her faces broadens even farther as if to say _I love you so much, _but with all the previous mirages, there has never been any communication. Well, no communication except from my broken sobs.

She dances without a care in the world, and she looks so happy and content, I almost hated her, envy her. Yet I desire her. How is it fair, that I must live through pain that no-one else will understand? Looking at her smile, I would live through the pain and heart-ache a million times before I would see her shed a single tear.

I haven't been able to keep my thoughts free of her, I have broken the fundamental rule of pretending she never existed and I know, even as the judicious voice of my rational mind tells me 'it's not real', even as my common sense and self-preservation instinct arrive too late. Wheezing and clutching my chest, against the throbbing heart that didn't exist and muttering apologies. Even as I hold my breath in anticipation of the stabbing pains of heartache that accompany this sort of moment without fail, yet, I knows that she has ruined me for everyone else, because there will never be another quite like her. And I will and cannot settle for anything less.

The clear image of her is scared into my memory, as if it's waiting for the moment it can break free. I know every smooth curve of skin, every perfect imperfection. She was as familiar to me as myself.

Bella...my perfect, beautiful and clumsy Bella, I could have held you in my arms for the rest of eternity. She was my world and my life, and I was hers; two pieces of a puzzle and two halves of one stone...Complete.

I understand what is meant when people say they are 'crazy' about someone. I am, without a doubt, crazy for her. Possibly even just crazy. There is nothing sane about seeing and hearing and feeling the ghost of your dead fiancé.

I feel the back of my eyes burning, and I silently berate myself for not stopping the dreams sooner – it will hurt for longer that way. Although, I suppose, it doesn't really matter for me anymore. The line between pleasure and pain is somewhat blurred these days yet as defined as the spectrum. Maybe that was what it was like for her, maybe before there was only pain, and then none at all.

I am aware that I have failed everyone – my father, my mother, my sibling, myself, but most of all Bella. What good is a man who cannot even protect the one he loves? From herself, no less! I could almost laugh at the irony of it. She was her own worst enemy. As stubborn as the world could wonder, but she was mine as I was hers. She never doubted my love for her and loved her for it.

A hand reaches out to touch me and it is hers, only the daisy chain is stained red, the skin is marred by thick, rope-like gashes, and a rivulet of blood runs from her wrist to her fingertips, where it pools until it falls, a solitary drop, a victim of gravity, and I think it is entirely possible that I too is trickling away and gathering in an thick crimson puddle on the floor.

I am aware of how I must look to others, like a cracked piece of glass held together by masking tape. I wonder when I will shatter. _It's only a matter of time_, I think. It's the only thought that comforts me now. That we shall meet again soon.

What has been hidden to me for so very long is made clear now; in a flash of comprehension, an epiphany, if you will. I cannot have her in life, so I will have her in death, and what a sweet reunion it will be. I see now, that she had the right idea all along.

**Hope you liked it. I'd love it if you could review.**

**xoxo**


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